A very short Zen story of journey and place
By Genkai Phil
OzZen Yarrawarra Retreat, May 2025

The track starts out firm, winding through tall forest of eucalypts, paperbarks and she-oaks.
Moving downwards it soon becomes muddy.
Oh shit! I’m wearing thongs, the world’s most unstable footwear. I take them off.
Soon marveling at the quality of clayey soil, at once both slippery and sticky.
The track, an old and rutted road in parts, is full of watery holes, cloudy and mysterious. How deep? I avoid stepping into them in bare feet, perhaps there are hazards. Tree roots, broken glass, bits of metal.
The mud starts to give way to sandier substrates. Firmer, meandering paths of animal feet or human passing.
I am soon in amongst the weeds, dotted among heathy shrubs, wound up in grasses and sedges. I could get lost in here. Clinging, tangled up, scratchy. Tick ridden.
Small billabongs appear, home to frogs, birds, fish and iridescent dragonflies. Probably tiger snakes!
The back of a dune slopes before me. Gritty and unstable. Slow going, nature’s speedhump.
I can hear it before I see it. The whumping of waves along the steep shoreline.
I have spent many years, decades actually, playing in the fringes of the Pacific vastness.
I have experienced much joy and learnt many lessons.
I am intimate with the shapes and heights of waves. The directions they come from and the spaces between them. The way the wind sparkles and rips up the surfaces.
Swept along the shore in the drift, pulled out in rip currents. Riding high and fast, being held under and fighting for breath.
Yet, many mysteries remain beyond the edge of things. A vast deepness and expanse. Creatures benign, playful, life giving, monstrous.
A muddy track, a sandy shore, trees, shrubs, grasses and weeds.
All gifts from the cosmos.
Gassho.





